Honestly, if you were around in the mid-70s, you couldn't escape Barry Manilow. He was everywhere. But even if you’re a die-hard Fanilow, there is a good chance you don’t know the full, somewhat chaotic backstory of his 1975 hit Could It Be Magic Barry Manilow. It wasn't just some studio-manufactured pop song. It was a weird, ambitious hybrid of 19th-century classical music and "musical orgasm" aspirations that almost didn't happen.
Most people think of it as a smooth adult contemporary staple. But the reality? It’s basically a high-stakes cover of a dead guy’s work, mixed with a healthy dose of Manhattan studio desperation.
The Chopin Connection: Stealing from the Best
The foundation of Could It Be Magic Barry Manilow isn't an original hook. It’s Frédéric Chopin. Specifically, his Prelude in C Minor, Opus 28, Number 20.
Manilow was living in a cramped studio apartment on 27th Street in Manhattan. He’d been playing Chopin on his piano all afternoon when the melody started to morph into something else. He wasn't trying to be "classy" for the sake of it; he just found the chord progressions incredibly moody and dramatic.
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The song literally opens and closes with eight bars of the original Prelude. If you listen to the album version, you’re hearing Chopin’s 1839 gloom transition into 1973 pop longing. Manilow famously told people he wanted the song to build like the Beatles' "Hey Jude"—a massive, slow-burn crescendo that he described, quite colorfully, as a "musical orgasm."
Why it took three tries to get it right
Success didn't come overnight for this track. It actually went through three distinct lives:
- The Featherbed Era (1971): This was the first version. Tony Orlando (yes, that Tony Orlando) produced it under the name "Featherbed," a ghost group of session musicians. Manilow sang lead, but he wasn't allowed to arrange it because he was "unproven" as a pop producer. It was fast, upbeat, and... kind of a mess. It flopped.
- The Debut Album (1973): After Manilow got his own deal with Bell Records, he took another crack at it. This time, he co-produced it with Ron Dante. This version was over six minutes long, way slower, and much closer to the "epic" vision he had.
- The Arista Re-issue (1975): Once "Mandy" became a monster hit, his new label (Arista) realized they had a goldmine in the vault. They edited the 1973 version down for radio, and that is the version that climbed to number 6 on the Billboard Hot 100.
That "Sweet Melissa" Mystery
One of the most debated parts of Could It Be Magic Barry Manilow is the lyric: "Sweet Melissa, spirit of the light." Fans spent years wondering who the heck Melissa was. Was it a secret lover? A ghost? Turns out, it was probably Melissa Manchester. She was Manilow’s label-mate and a backup singer for Bette Midler alongside Barry back in the early 70s. Adrienne Anderson, who wrote the lyrics, has generally pointed in that direction, though in the world of 70s songwriting, things were often left intentionally vague to sound more poetic.
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From Pop Ballad to Disco Anthem
The song’s DNA is so strong that it didn't stay a ballad for long. Just seven months after Manilow’s version hit the charts, Donna Summer and Giorgio Moroder got their hands on it.
They stripped away the somber Chopin intro and replaced it with a pulsing disco beat. It became a huge club hit and reached number 3 on the US Dance chart. It’s one of those rare cases where a song works equally well as a tear-jerking piano ballad and a sweaty, late-night dance floor filler.
Decades later, the British boy band Take That covered it again in 1992, winning a Brit Award for it. The song just won't die.
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Why It Still Matters
What makes Could It Be Magic Barry Manilow stand out in a sea of 70s soft rock is its structure. Most pop songs follow a predictable verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-chorus pattern. This song doesn't do that. It’s one long, continuous climb.
It starts with a whisper and ends with a wall of sound—orchestra, choir, and Manilow practically shouting. It shouldn't work. It’s arguably "too much." But that’s the Manilow magic. He took a somber, 130-year-old piano piece and turned it into a theatrical spectacle.
Actionable Insights for Music Lovers
If you want to truly appreciate the craftsmanship behind the track, try these steps:
- Listen to the source material: Find a recording of Chopin’s Prelude in C Minor, Op. 28, No. 20. You’ll hear the exact moment where Manilow’s melody begins to deviate from the 1839 original.
- Compare the "Featherbed" version: Go on YouTube and search for the 1971 Featherbed version. It’s a fascinating look at how a great song can be "buried" by the wrong arrangement.
- Check out the 1973 album version: Don’t just stick to the 3-minute radio edit. The full 6:49 version from Barry Manilow I captures the "crescendo" effect he was actually going for.
- Watch the 2025 music video: In a weird twist of digital-age marketing, a "new" official music video was released in 2025 featuring footage from Copacabana Beach, proving the song is still a priority for his estate and label.
The song is a masterclass in "borrowing" from the past to create something entirely new. Whether you find it cheesy or brilliant, you have to admit: the man knew how to build a climax.